


Fullmetal Heart

by Minibitx



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Series, RoyEd Gift Exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minibitx/pseuds/Minibitx
Summary: Father is defeated, Amestris is safe, and Al has his body back. Returning from leave, Edward heads to Central HQ and faces his biggest challenge yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a gift to Imyaslavie for the Royed Gift Exchange 2017. It was originally just gonna be 2 chapters but it grew >w< its half written already and I know how it ends so I can promise regular updates! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Edward stood in the oil-skimmed puddles of last night’s rain, motionless before the gates of Central Headquarters and staring past the iron bars to the windows on the second floor.

He'd hesitated, cringed, pitched fits, screamed, and dragged his boots through those gates so many times that he wasn't even sure he knew how to walk through them without pause. He'd always needed that moment, whether it was spent in screaming or silence, to centre and steel himself, look up at the fourth window from the west on the second floor, and know who waited behind it. 

But today was different: there would be no lecture for simply returning from unpaid family leave, no next clue to lead him chasing after the Philosopher’s stone or the homunculi, no armoured Al by his side taking two clanking steps for every four of his, and, Ed thought, looking up through the raw, rain-washed city air to the window on the second floor, there’d be no General hiding who-knows-what behind a smug smile, upbraiding his disobedience with one hand and sheltering him with the other and twisting his guts into knots with the impenetrable shadows in his dark eyes. Unless they’d come up with a way to make automail eyes since he last checked, blindness was cause for an immediate – if honourable – discharge. Edward looked up; the window yellow against the cold grey of the outside wall: an electric illusion of firelight. 

Taking in a lungful of city air that smelled like rain, grass, and hot asphalt, Edward pushed the gate open. It creaked as it swung away, it always did, and he kicked it back into place behind him without looking. He wondered what they’d do with him, and who his new C.O. would be; probably some geezer. People were always saying how a Central HQ office was a cushy job, and Mustang had never made any bones about reminding him how many generals would be happy to swoop in and take it if Edward ever made him look too bad. 

Well, in the end, it hadn’t been his fault. Hell, he’d been an inch away from trying to mend his sight on the spot if he hadn’t been paralyzed by the possibility that he might lose Roy the way he lost Al. 

But Al was back now, he pondered as he made his way across the courtyard. He was probably sitting at Granny’s kitchen table right then, flesh and unbroken bone, stuffing his face with apple pie while Winry fussed over his atrophied muscles. Granted, you could see all his bones if he was held up to a strong light, but a scrawny body was still a body: nerves and tendons and filaments of cells that could be knitted back together if they were bruised, broken, or blinded. 

Edward shook off his wishful thinking. The point was moot now, he reminded himself. After buying back Al’s body he’d hardly trust himself to tinker with his own leg, let alone someone’s vision – let alone his vision, and anyway whoever it was sitting in in Mustang’s office in Mustang’s chair behind Mustang’s desk, it wasn’t Mustang. 

The security guards barely batted an eye at him when he went inside. The building was already emptying for the day, and his boots seemed to echo on the entry hall’s tile floors as he moved towards the stairs. He wondered, now that he was inside, how often he’d actually get to leave these walls under his new post. Under Mustang, he had been on assignment pretty much all the time in accordance with the agreement they’d struck on day one: Edward worked on his leash as a military dog, and Mustang let him chase clues about the Stone. A new commander wouldn’t be under any such under-the-table obligations. It wasn’t even like Edward would be allowed to retain his rank as a State Alchemist; he would certainly fail to produce anything comparable to circle-free alchemy at his next assessment. 

Something solid slammed into his side and the impact jerked him out of his rumination. He whirled around to face a flurry of papers and the scattered apologies of a mousy-haired brunette who was clutching a stack of files to her chest with one hand and alternating between straightening her owlish glasses and reaching for the rest of the papers with the other. 

“-so sorry oh my god, are you okay? I’m so-” she blinked, “-Ed?” 

Edward grinned as Sciezka pulled him into a hug. 

“It’s so good to see you! Are you back? I mean, are you ‘back’ back? Or are you visiting?” 

“I’m back,” he said, gently prying himself loose and kneeling down to assist in cleaning up, “technically speaking I didn’t resign; they’ll probably decommission me, though.” 

“You got taller!” Sciezka exclaimed as she took the gathered papers from his outstretched hands, tapping them into a neater pile on her knees. 

The volume made Edward wince even as he reddened, and he nodded, “Obviously,” he scoffed, rising to his feet and offering a hand to the secretary. 

Sciezka giggled nervously as he helped her up, then she jumped, hastily shifting the papers to a precarious position under one arm and jerking his right hand forward into hers. 

“Your hand!” she ejaculated, gaping. 

Edward’s cheeks burned, and he hastily pried her fingers loose from his hand. 

“Yeah,” he said, wishing for his gloves. 

“Oh, Ed, that’s wonderful!” Sciezka beamed at him, “is your leg-“ 

Ed shook his head, looking around for any excuse to leave the conversation. His eye fell on a wall clock. 

“I should report in,” he said, straightening. 

“Oh,” Sciezka followed his gaze, “wait,” she adjusted her glasses, squinting through the thick, smudged lenses before looking back to him, “You’re not just getting in now, are you?” 

Edward shrugged, “my train was late,” he lied. 

“Well, you’d better get up there, General Mustang's gonna be annoyed if you keep him past five." 

Edward felt his chest constrict a moment before his pulse started again. 

“Who?” he asked, certain he must have heard her wrong. 

“General Mustang. Ed, are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.” 

He barely heard her over the blood rushing in his ears. Ten explanations spun on a carousel in his head and were narrowed to one in as many seconds. 

“Excuse me,” he blurted, sidestepping past her and dashing for the stairs. 

There was only one way Mustang could have maintained his position after what happened on the Promised Day, he thought, gritting his teeth as he cleared the steps, sidestepping passers-by in the hallway. The only question was, had he done it himself, or did he have help? 

He pulled up short before the office door. It took only a moment to collect his breath, but longer to still his hands and heartbeat. Carefully, he cleared his expression, and opened the door. 

He marched forward, across the office. He saw the lieutenants at their desks, and absently noted the drifts of correspondence which covered them, but pointedly kept his eyes on the second door immediately opposite his entrance. Seven swift steps took him there – one less than before, he noted – and the handle was turning under his shaking fingers before he could hesitate. 

He was bent over a pile of pale yellow forms and envelopes, and leaning his cheek on one half-closed fist. His dark hair fell forward, almost interfering with his shadowed eyes when he looked up, and all doubt was erased from Ed’s mind. The blank face belied by burning, coal-dark eyes met his gaze for a long, silent moment, before the general altered his posture, folding slim digits into a familiar position beneath his chin, settling comfortably in his chair and letting just one side of his mouth curl up in a familiar smile that made a lump lodge just below Ed’s throat. 

"It's good to see you, Fullmetal."


	2. Chapter 2

General Roy Mustang had had a very long year.

Many of the changes had been pleasant. Grumman was doing a bang-up job as Fuhrer, and having Lieutenant Havoc back on active duty was doing wonders for morale. Mostly, though, the office was quiet. Busy, of course – the sounds of papers shuffling, pens scratching, and the door constantly opening and closing from people going in and out with files, forms, reports, invoices, messages, gossip, and memos filled the air from dawn to dusk – but there was a muscle at the base of Roy’s spine that tensed every time the handle on the door to his inner office clicked, expecting a blond tornado to hurtle through and scream at him over something perfectly reasonable, if a bit underhanded. 

Edward’s departure was a loss that was felt but not spoken. Roy knew he couldn’t be the first to remark on how empty their packed office was without him, and there seemed to be a consensus among his staff that what was already understood did not need to be discussed. Edward was only on leave, after all: he was recovering from his injuries and taking care of his brother, not dead or discharged. Roy knew he ought to have been happy for them both, and he was; intellectually, at least. They had achieved their goals and could now retire peaceably in Risembool. Edward would eat stew every day and sleep in a real bed every night. The Rockbell girl would look after him and he could watch Al grow stronger every day until they were both old and gray men watching sheep under an open sky. Roy had painted that picture in his mind so many times he was fairly confident – despite having never held a brush in his life – that he could apply it to canvas if he wanted to, but try as he might he couldn’t seem to make it stick. 

Edward, living a peaceful country life. Herding sheep, patching fences, Miss Rockbell baking him pies until he was as soft and pasty as the dough. 

He deserved it, Roy knew he did – if anyone on earth deserved the epitome of a peaceful life, it was Edward Elric – but it just didn’t feel right. The Edward Elric he knew couldn’t even sit still when his arm was off and his leg was shattered. He was always moving, and Roy was always in his path. 

Back then, he'd been rambunctious, and he still moved like a cat on fire when he had something to move for, but he had stopped jumping for every offhand crack at his height. Not that there was a lot left to tease there, the last time he’d seen the Fullmetal Alchemist, tensed and ready for battle in the lair of the Homunculi, his crackling eyes and broad shoulders eyes had nearly been level with his own. 

Roy wondered if it were possible Ed had grown even more since Al had returned, and realized only then that his mind had wandered. Shaking his head to clear it, he rubbed his eyes, elbows only protesting the hardness of the desk once lifted from it, and allowed himself a glance at the time. 

Four forty-five; Edward was supposed to report for duty before five-o-clock. Objectively, Roy found it much more likely he would simply send a letter and retire by proxy, but that didn’t stop the general’s eyes from creeping away from his work and up at the clock every thirty seconds since he sat down that morning. 

Roy rolled his neck to crack it, and forced his attention back down to the desk, resting his forehead on one fist. There were several new reports from the Ishval project that still needed to be evaluated, documented, and turned in to command. All of them were enclosed in thick manila envelopes and stamped ‘confidential.’ Roy picked up the one he’d been working on, skimming his free hand past the familiar lines. 

No sooner had he found the place where his attention had lapsed than a slamming door and the sound of booted steps made him tense even as his heart leapt into his throat. He was halfway into telling himself that it was probably nothing when the door blew open as if driven before a gale and Edward Elric stood before him. 

He was taller by at least a few centimetres, and tanned, his skin a smooth and tawny brown next to the pale straw-gold of his long hair. He was staring at Roy like the general with his brows pressed together and his eyes narrowed, his lips slightly parted, his chest visibly rising and falling with each breath. His pulse was hammering under the corner of his jaw in a subtle drumbeat, and there was a white fire behind his gold eyes that seemed to flare as he collected himself, rolling his shoulders backward and straightening his spine to stand erect and immoveable, like lightning in an adamant bottle. His scrutinizing gaze never left Roy’s face. 

Roy had not been prepared for this. Roy had been prepared for the wiry, reckless alchemist who used to swagger into his office and slam misspelled, sloppy non-reports onto his desk, not the tawny, athletic youth who stood wordlessly like a lion ready to pounce only a few feet from his desk. He drew a breath in, slowly to control its tremor, and raised his head, moving on autopilot as he began to shape the familiar, icy mask that would be his shield. His face relaxed into a neutral expression as he folded his hands beneath his chin, and allowed his voice to thaw his smile. 

“It’s good to see you, Fullmetal,” he said, catching himself from using the alchemist’s first name. 

Edward looked at him steadily, and Roy could see the gears turning in his head. 

“Yeah, I imagine it is,” he said, “how are you doing that, exactly?” 

Roy blinked, and it took half a second to remember that the last time he saw Fullmetal was not the last time Fullmetal saw him. 

“With my eyes, Fullmetal,” he replied, affecting a tone of patience as he slid his gaze back downward, reaching for his desk drawer. 

“Don’t be a dick,” Edward scoffed, folding his arms and planting his feet, “I’m not a moron, there’s only one way you could be sitting here instead of stumbling around poking everyone’s eyes out with a cane.” 

The corner of Roy’s mouth quirked upward against his will. 

“They don’t tend to let you stay a general in active service if you’ve lost your eyesight,” he pointed out, retrieving the forms he’d had ready since nine and half-filled out since noon. 

He set the form down and leveled his gaze with Ed’s. The other alchemist’s frown deepened, and Roy could see a familiar tensing of muscles in his neck and shoulders. He was careful to keep his eyes on Ed’s face, but he bet himself that if he looked down he’d see hands in fists. The silence dragged on for several seconds. The Fullmetal Alchemist was deciding whether his answer was acceptable. Roy did his best not to hold his breath while he waited. 

“So you used a Philosopher’s stone.” 

Edward’s voice was low and even as an assassin’s dagger. Roy began gathering the defenses he’d been writing in his head since the day Marcoh made his offer. 

“I can’t correct the wrongs that caused their creation without my eyesight, Fullmetal.” 

Edward folded his arms, drumming tan fingers over the rough brown sleeve of his coat. 

“I’ve been granted supervision over the Ishval project,” he continued, speeding his explanation slightly as he saw Edward bristle, “restoring the restricted regions for habitation, and helping the refugees settle in and start over.” 

Edward narrowed his eyes, “you’re doing all this from an office in downtown Central?” 

“It’s been our only project,” a third voice interrupted. 

Edward jumped as the door swung open behind him and Jean Havoc stepped through. 

“In fact, don’t get too comfy,” he continued, grinning at Edward’s dropped jaw, “‘cause we’ll be moving offices in a few weeks in order to manage the project on-location.” 

“Lieutenant!” 

Jean chuckled as Ed’s smile split his face, stepping into Havoc’s arms for a brief hug, stepping back after an appreciative slap on the back. 

“It’s good to see you on your feet,” Ed beamed, looking the lieutenant over approvingly. Roy wondered if the ice would return to his voice if he told him that Jean owed his mobility to the same force that had saved his own eyes. 

“So are you coming out to the desert with us, or did you come to rub your retirement in our faces?” Jean asked. 

Ed turned to face Roy, “you’re leaving Central?” 

“It’s a much better position to gauge what the Ishvalans really need and how to provide it,” Roy nodded, “so, yes, we all are. Unless you’re here to resign.” 

He watched Edward’s face as the younger alchemist stared him down. He wondered if the tremor in his last statement had been perceptible, or if it had only manifested inside his own mind, induced by the possibility of having Edward reappear in his life only to voluntarily walk out of it forever. He’d sacrificed life and limb to destroy the evils behind the philosopher’s stones, literally. He would be well within his rights to cut his ties here and now, and Roy’s hands shook as he waited for the cut. 

“Resign?” Edward feigned gravity a moment before a familiar grin slid over his face and one eyebrow cocked upward, “you didn’t think you’d be rid of me that easily, did you?” 

Relief crashed over Roy’s bones like a cool and heavy wave, and his lips curved in a smile that creased his cheeks before he could compose himself. Edward snapped his heels together, straightening his back and striking an at-attention salute without un-cocking his grin. 

“Major Elric, reporting for duty!” 

“Woo-hoo!” Havoc cheered, raising a fist in the air as Roy turned the paperwork toward Edward and extended a pen. 

“We should celebrate!” the lieutenant exclaimed, leaning away from the door as Hawkeye appeared in the space – presumably lured by his cheer. “The whole gang back together again! – well, almost.” 

“Who’s missing?” Edward asked, scribbling his signature on the form. 

“Falman,” Roy answered, sliding the form away for filing almost before Ed’s pen left the page, “He’s acting as Amestrian ambassador in Area 1. His Ishvalan heritage helps with local relations.” 

“Speaking of, he sent this,” Havoc extended the file he’d tucked under his elbow to Roy, “just came in downstairs.” 

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” Roy replied, taking it and glancing at the clock: it was only a few minutes to five, “We’ve made good progress today, and we ought to celebrate Ed’s first night back on the job. Putting in a grand total of two minutes on-base, just like old times.” 

Havoc barked a laugh, “I’ll get my coat,” he said, turning and slipping past Hawkeye, who was eyeing the stack of files on Roy’s desk. 

“Are you sure it’s a good day to knock off early, sir?” she asked. 

Roy looked at her sideways as he retrieved his own coat from the hanger in the corner. He hadn’t expected his anxiety in the days and hours before Edward’s return to go unnoticed by his closest associate, but that didn’t make it any less irritating when the volume of undone work his time worrying had left him with was pointed out. 

“I’ll catch up at home,” he said, dismissively as he grabbed Falman’s mail and half the stack on his desk and reached for his coat, “two more minutes at the desk won’t make a difference.” 

He felt her brown eyes on him as he shrugged into the coat and opened his briefcase, but she must have seen there would be no arguing with him, because she slipped back into the main office without another word on the matter. He could hear the gaiety therein as the rest of his command greeted their prodigal alchemist. He clicked the briefcase shut with a corner of one of the reports still poking out, impatient to have Edward back within his line of sight. 

He paused in the doorway. Edward stood surrounded by friends, and the office seemed warm despite the gray evening outside. Roy stood back, taking advantage of the opportunity provided by Edward’s diverted attention to commit every detail of the man he had become to memory. It felt like he hadn’t left, and at the same time like he had been gone much longer than a year, Roy thought, watching as Breda clasped Ed’s hand in a shake that wobbled the – incredibly – taller officer while Feury marvelled at his new height, provoking a scoff and a familiar tinge of scarlet over his cheekbones. 

He felt Riza’s presence at his elbow more than he saw it. 

“He changed,” Roy murmured. 

Hawkeye nodded. 

Roy hardly bothered to keep his guard up. There was never really any point around Riza; she had been able to read him like an open book since he was fifteen. She’d been allowed further behind the mask than almost anyone he knew, and she’d never lost the keys. 

“Sir,” 

He glanced sideways at her without moving his head. Her lips were pressed in a slight frown as she scrutinized his expression. 

“Be careful.”


End file.
